


Scandal Management

by CaptainDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Humor, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Anthea” meets quite a lot of interesting people in her line of work.  She usually doesn't meet ones this infuriating this frequently, though.  And she usually doesn't enjoy it so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, enough spoilers have come out about A Scandal in Belgravia for me to know that my Irene Adler is a bit different than the one portrayed by Lara Pulver. While (in my mind) this Irene is still Pulver in appearance (though much taller), her character background is different. There will be no spoilers for the episode here, but you may want to be familiar with the original stories.

Dahlia's thumbs hurt. It had been a busy day, and she suspected that she hadn't stopped texting for more than five minutes since eight o'clock that morning. Between the Libyan situation and some car accident a few miles away, the day had been packed. Of course she didn't question any of the information she sent, even when it seemed trivial. It was probably encoded, anyway. That was why she was so good at her job. She was proud of that fact.

“Do put that down, Dahlia.” Her employer said from his desk. She glanced up from the Blackberry.

“Sir?”

“Mr. Norton is here. And I don't think there's anything else we can do for Mr. Kwan.”

“Very good, sir.” She deleted the day's messages and punched in a few security codes. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in, Mr. Norton.”

The door opened to admit a tall, handsome man, dressed almost as well as the man seated at the desk in front of him.

“Mr. Holmes. Always a pleasure.”

“Sit down, Mr. Norton. I believe you had something of a trying day.”

“You would have a better idea of it than I do. You grew up with him.” Mr. Holmes smiled as Mr. Norton sat.

“Mrs. Norton is on her way, I trust?”

“She's in a cab as we speak. She said she wanted to stop off somewhere before coming. There wasn't much I could do to stop her.”

“She's quite clever enough to avoid any unfortunate sightings.”

“True.”

“Coffee?”

“I'd love some.” Mr. Holmes tapped three times on his desk. Dahlia rose.

“Right away, sirs.” Her heels clicked as she exited the room for the staff kitchen. She returned to her texting once the coffee-making was underway. Policy stated that she had to be present during food and beverage preparation, but she wasn't about to stand and stare at the coffee-maker. There wasn't much going on that she could check up on, so she turned to the surveillance data from Mr. Holmes' brother. Perhaps he'd finished his latest case. Bored of browsing after a few minutes, she started a sudoku game. She froze when she heard the click of a shoe behind her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, turning. A young man stood in the doorway, a smirk across his oddly feminine face. He was dressed exquisitely in a tailored suit. A messenger bag was slung over one shoulder. He wore a fedora, which added to the old-fashioned appearance. He reminded Dahlia of an American gangster film.

“I'm a bit lost. I smelt coffee and thought I'd investigate.”

“I'd offer you some, but this is for a meeting. Limited supply.” She motioned to a tray with three mugs arranged on it. The man took a step towards her. She recognised the smile he wore. He had clearly noted the low-cut nature of her blouse. 

“That's fine. I just thought; where there's coffee, there's people, and I need directions.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“Where are you off to?” he asked as she began to punch at the keys of the Blackberry again. She smiled at him and rolled her eyes.

“Busy, are you?”

“Quite.”

“I didn't realise that the government paid its employees to play sudoku.” He grinned, revealing straight, white teeth that would have made a toothpaste commercial envious. Dahlia wondered if he did any modeling. She put the Blackberry away and poured the coffee. She took the tray and turned to leave the room. She found her way impeded by the stranger.

“Excuse me.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Uh, Dahlia.” It was Wednesday, wasn't it?

“Your real name?” He stepped aside, but kept his eyes trained on her.

“No.” She brushed past him and strode away. She heard the clacking of his feet, but they turned a corner. She wasn't being followed. She arrived back at the office to find Mr. Norton in conversation with Mr. Holmes.

“You'll have to ask her about it, but it's a brilliant story.”

“I'll make a point.”

“Your coffee, sir.” She set the tray on the desk. She didn't sit down immediately, in case she had another task to do.

“Do sit down, Dahlia. And thank you for the update.” She'd texted him some new information regarding his brother's case. Dahlia took her seat and watched as the two men added the appropriate amounts of milk and sugar to their coffee. There was another knock at the door.

“Ah! Come in, Mrs. Norton.”

“Oh, please,” said a familiar voice as the door swung open. It revealed a tall, angular woman dressed in a man's tailored suit and carrying a messenger bag. She had grown about twelve inches of wavy dark hair, and a respectable bosom since Dahlia had last seen her. The fedora was gone. “don't call me Mrs. Norton. It'll get old so fast. Irene is fine.” She had lost the upper-class accent in favour of an American one. East coast, if Dahlia's judgement was correct. The woman swept into the room with incredible grace. She caught sight of the PA.

“Dahlia, was it? It seems I'll get some coffee after all.” Dahlia smiled her professional smile and said nothing. After so many years in the service of a Holmes, nothing could surprise her.

“Irene” sat next to Mr. Norton and took the remaining cup of coffee. She drank it black.

“So good to see you again, Miss Adler.”

“I've told you Mycroft, it's Irene.”

“If you like. Godfrey here has been telling me the most amusing story. I take it you met my brother?”

She laughed.

“Oh, yes. I've just arrived from his flat, in fact. I thought I'd bid him farewell before returning to New Jersey.” Mr. Holmes smiled.

“What do you think of him?”

“I found him charming enough.”

“That's not a word I often hear in association with Sherlock.”

“To be fair, he was pretending to be someone else on both occasions that I spoke with him.”

“Did he really set your carpet on fire? Really, I thought he'd been brought up better than _that_.”

“No, that was his...associate. The doctor. I didn't get a good enough look to determine their exact relationship.”

“I doubt if anyone has. Even Sherlock.” She laughed.

“Anyway, there was no actual fire, just a bit of smoke. But I think that's a story for another time, Mycroft. We have business to discuss.”

“Indeed. These are for you two.” Mr. Holmes handed Irene and Mr. Norton a manila folder each. They pulled the contents out and read. Irene scowled.

“Really, Mycroft. I'm not exactly incompetent.”

“I'd noticed.” Mr. Holmes replied. “However, what I've outlined here is quite necessary. I apologise if it offends you, but I assure you that it can't be any other way.”

“I don't need a babysitter!”

Mr. Holmes smiled at her. “Everyone needs a caretaker now and again. That's why I exist, you know. Dahlia.”

“Sir?”

“You will accompany Irene to her hotel. Make sure that she's settled. Details to follow.”

Dahlia nodded and made to stand. Irene looked outraged.

“A babysitter and an _escort_?”

“Dahlia is hardly a babysitter. She is a trusted colleague.”

“I can get there myself! For god's sake, it's just a hotel.”

“Ah, you are a bit reminiscent of my brother, aren't you?” Irene seemed to choke on her anger. Mr. Norton looked bewildered.

“Ms. Adler,” Dahlia began after glancing at her latest text. “I will merely be ensuring that you arrive safely at your destination. I will be at your service for the rest of your time in London, even if that requires my absence.” Irene stared at her for a moment. She slapped her hands on Mr. Holmes' desk.

“Well, I think we're done here, don't you?”

“Quite done. Good evening to you, Irene.”

“And a shitpile of one to you, Mycroft.”

They smiled at each other pleasantly, and then Irene rose and walked to the door. Dahlia was already up and holding it open for her. She continued texting one-handed. Irene winked as she passed.

They did not make conversation in the car ride to the hotel. Dahlia reviewed her orders as they drove, and then returned to the Zimbabwean embassy. An urgent text from her employer came through just as they pulled up in front of the hotel.

“Change of plans, Ms. Adler.”

“What?” Irene's hand was already starting to push her door open.

“There's been an unfortunate sighting via our surveillance here. It will be quite impossible for you to stay.”

“Oh, is that all? I can avoid whoever it is.”

“Mr. Holmes' orders. He'd rather you weren't in contact with Mr. von Ormstein or his fiancee.”

“Ah. I see. Where are you taking me, then?”

The car had already started to move away from the hotel.

“A safe place.”

“That's all I'm getting out of you, isn't it?”

Dahlia just smiled.

The mysterious location turned out to be Dahlia's own flat. It was smallish, well-furnished, and very very dull. Not that Dahlia spent much time there. She deftly unlocked the door while sending off a text to Mr. Holmes to notify him of their safe arrival. Irene stood behind her, watching. The chauffeur was taking care of her bags.

“Toilet's just down there,” Dahlia pointed once they got inside. Irene strode further in and looked around.

“Nice place.” she remarked. Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Not really, but thank you.” Irene grinned.

“Don't get much vacation time, do you?”

“Your room for the night is down there.” She pointed to another door.

“And where's _your_ room?” Irene waggled her eyebrows.

“Surely you don't think I sleep?” Dahlia teased and then went to the kitchen to make coffee. She could hear Irene moving her luggage into the guest bedroom. She reappeared in the kitchen a few moments later.

“So, what's the plan for the night?”

“I didn't realise a plan was necessary.”

“Well I sure as hell am not spending the evening in _this_ dive. No offense.”

“None taken, however I _am_ under orders to keep you here. Sorry.”

“What? He's not letting me go outside?”

“Unfortunately there's too great a risk that you'll be seen by the wrong people. There are several parties with eyes and ears all over the city even Mr. Holmes can't control.”

“That's bullshit.”

“Regardless, that's orders. Coffee?”

“Nah, I'm fine. I suppose I'll just read for a bit and then turn in, shall I?”

“That would be advisable, Ms. Adler.” Irene sighed heavily and trudged out. Feeling that she had been freed for the evening, Dahlia settled into a chair to draw up a few sports charts. Though he was loathe to admit it, Mr. Holmes did have his allegiances.

Dahlia woke to the sound of her mobile buzzing. Checking the time, she saw that she had been asleep for almost an hour. The flat was silent; Irene must have gotten to sleep. Or not. The text that had woken her was from Mr. Holmes:    
_  
CCTV: Your guest sighted. Please retrieve.   
_   
The message was followed by a grainy CCTV still – featuring what was clearly Irene in a long auburn wig – and an address.

“Dammit!” Dahlia bolted upright. She was out of the flat in seconds, thumbs flying furiously over the Blackberry keypad.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Irene smirked to herself as she left her hostess in the kitchen. Of course the poor woman didn't know her, didn't know that she was about the least trustworthy person in the world, so she hadn't a chance. She left the door to the bedroom open just a crack. That way she could hear Dahlia's movements and give the illusion of innocence.

She stripped quickly and carefully chose an auburn wig and small black dress. A night out was in order. She surveyed herself in the full-sized mirror. Stunning, as usual. She grinned and waited by the door.

It only took about twenty minutes for the rustling of her hostess's papers to be replaced by a thump and slow, steady breathing. It was altogether too easy to stride out of the flat without waking Dahlia.

Irene closed her eyes and grinned when she approached the Club Von Kramm. Music pounded and lights flashed. The place positively  _ pulsed _ . She squared her shoulders and went in, heels clacking and false hair swishing. 

It had been too long since she had been able to let go like this. To be able to dance without reservation, flirt without anxiety, drink without paying. She was careful not to drink too much, no matter how many men offered. She was good at keeping the air of mystery; in fact, it was probably what she was best at. The night wore on in a flurry of dancing and strobe lights.

 

A favourite song ended and Irene pulled out her phone to check the time. Funny, she'd only actually been gone a little over an hour. In the moment of silence before the next song began, she turned to look at the crowd around her. Shit.

Dahlia pushed her way through the throng; she appeared to be heading towards the bar. She clearly hadn't noticed Irene. Yet.

Irene slid behind a largish man to avoid being seen. If she wanted to leave, she'd have to pass Dahlia. She was of course an expert at going unnoticed, but she still wasn't sure how observant Dahlia was. She didn't like to underestimate people. Dahlia drew nearer, looking a little panicked. Ten feet away. Eight. Five. Two.

Irene wasn't precisely sure what made her do it. Later she'd blame the music, the lights, the skirt Dahlia was wearing. It was risky, stupid, and indulgent. She reached a well-manicured hand out and made a grab for the other woman's backside. She had a moment to ponder how much she _liked_ the feel of Dahlia's arse, and then she had to duck to avoid being seen as Dahlia spun around. She couldn't stop the wicked grin that spread across her face as she half-crawled her way to the exit.

Irene's plan hit a snag at the door with a face that she recognised all too well. The face wore a scar that she may or may not have had a hand in.

“Petra? What are- oh, this is going to be _good_.”

“Oh really? I disagree.” She was so startled by his appearance that she almost forgot to adopt her Corsican accent.

“What you think doesn't really matter. Why don't we step outside?”

“I'd rather stay in here, actually. Bit cold out tonight.”

“That wasn't a suggestion.”

Irene could do nothing but follow when the muzzle of a gun was pressed into her back.

“Brought friends this time? Appearances aside, you _can_ learn.” Big, tall, and scar-faced just grinned and pushed the door open.

They didn't go far; just a down a few corners to a quiet alleyway. The two men backed Irene into a wall. Not her favourite place in the world. At least they were dim.

“I thought this business was behind us, Joey. And I'd thought better of you, Charles. Why are you throwing in with this shitkicker?”

Joey, aka scar-face, shoved Charles with his elbow: _Don't answer. Don't rise to her taunts._ He really had learned from their last encounter. Irene was almost impressed.

“You owe us, Petra. We never got compensated for the damage you did.” He rubbed along his jaw with a meaty hand.

“Really? You mean that scar hasn't gotten you laid yet? You're truly hopeless, Joey.” It would have been the right thing to say if Irene had wanted to be shoved backwards into the brick by a hand on her collar. As it happened, she did not. The breath was knocked out of her for a moment. She'd have a nice little bruise on her upper back come morning. If she lasted that long. It wasn't looking good at the moment, given Joey's rage and Charles' shaking gun-hand.

“What the hell do you want from me?”

“I can think of a few things.” Joey's voice had gone a bit lower, and he leant in when he spoke. She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes; sarcasm and derision were the languages she was most fluent in.

“Unimaginative. Can't you do better than that?”

“Keep talking. You're only making it worse for yourself.” He kept her pinned to the wall with one hand and ran the other up her thigh and hip. He reached her breast and tore at the top of her dress. She flinched a little but kept a stony expression.

“Charles, are you really going to let this creep get away with this? Surely you don't get off on it. You at least have some class.” Charles' eyes widened. Indecisive. Good.

“You can have the leftovers, Charlie. I know you've wanted her. I'll leave enough for you to have fun with.” The younger man's hand trembled a bit, but his eyebrows furrowed.

“Charles, you don't want me like this. You want me to love you back. I can tell. I could give it to you. If you just-”

She gasped painfully as Joey pushed her harder into the wall and rammed his hand into her ribcage, just under her breast. More bruises to come.

“Please!” The panic started to rise in her throat like bile.

“Shut your damned mouth Petra.” Charles shrieked, and then said “Fuck!” A flash of burgundy and he crumpled. A shoe had hit him in the head.

“What the-?” The confusion was enough of a distraction for Irene to twist out from under Joey's hands. The three people turned to see a well dressed but slightly mussed young woman standing barefoot. She clutched the other burgundy pump in one hand.

“Been looking for you, Ms. Adler.” Dahlia said.

“Shoot her!” Joey bellowed. Luckily for Irene's saviour, Charles was not a crack shot. He also had a shoe-inflicted injury on his temple that leaked blood into his eyes. The shot went off into the night. He fumbled with the gun, but his hands slipped. Dahlia kicked it out of his hands. Her skirt ripped up the back in the process, but she paid no mind.

“You fucking-” Irene struck Joey in the back of the head before he could finish. It wasn't enough, and he turned on her.

“You shouldn't have done that, darling.” He lunged. She sidestepped him, but tripped up a bit. He towered over her while she scrambled to get her balance again. He took a step forward and she toppled into the pavement.

Somewhere in the scuffle her wig had fallen off. Her wig cap hung awkwardly from her head, bobby pins keeping it from falling altogether. Joey grabbed a lock of hair and used it as leverage to push her head down. She scratched at his arms and flailed wildly. Somewhere to her left there was a grunt and a thud. She didn't have time to hope that Charles was the injured party.

Irene's nose was bleeding. Her cheek felt wet and gritty from where it had hit the pavement. She could ignore the throb of her scalp where Joey still had a firm hold of her hair. There was a warm trickle down her leg. She couldn't remember when that had happened. She had given up fighting; it only used up energy. The hold Joey had on her made it impossible to twist out of his grip. He loomed over her, ready to strike again. She coughed feebly, a half-hearted taunt, and closed her eyes in anticipation for the blow.

There was another thud, and for a moment Irene thought that Joey must have hit her again. When she felt no pain to accompany the rather squelchy thunk, her eyes cracked open. Joey's eyes had gone glassy and unfocused. He didn't move. Dahlia stood above him, a streak of blood across her cheek and more on her arms and hands. She pushed the brute aside and Irene saw what had made him go still.

“I...I think I owe you a new pair of shoes.” Irene eyed the stiletto heel protruding from the back of her attacker's neck. She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face, despite how much it hurt her bloodied cheek. Dahlia held out a hand.

“Petra?” she asked as she pulled Irene up.

“An alias. Like yours, _Dahlia_.” Her saviour fished her Blackberry out of her bra.

“Actually,” she said. “it's past midnight. I'm Chloe now.” Irene's laughs turned into a coughing fit. Once she'd regained her composure, Chloe motioned to the road.

“We need to get out of here. The police won't get here for fifteen minutes at least, and we need to give the cleanup crew some time before that happens. There's a car waiting.”

Irene followed Chloe out of the alley and into the black car with tinted windows.

 

“Ouch!”

“It wouldn't hurt if you'd only stop squirming.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and carefully stuck the plaster over the cut on Irene's thigh. She was, as usual, the height of professionalism.

“I'm just going to put this ointment on your cheek. An infection would be most inconvenient.”

“Seriously, I can do it myself.”

“Just hold still, Ms. Adler.” Irene snorted, dislodging the tissue stuffed into her nose. The bleeding had stopped anyway.

“I think we're a bit past those formalities, Chloe. Call me by my first name.”

“If you like,” Chloe let a beat pass, during which she squeezed a bit of cream onto her finger. “Irene.”

She leaned forward and began to rub the stuff into the cleaned scrapes.

“Ah!”

“Does it hurt much?” Chloe lightened the pressure of her fingers on Irene's face.

“No, it's fine. Just a little sting.” They were quiet for a moment while Chloe worked. She glanced up at Irene's eyes. The consistent smirk that lived in her expression seemed to have warmed a bit.

“Um, are you done?” Chloe realised how close their faces really were now. Her fingers had stilled and simply pressed into the soft skin just under the cheekbone. She leaned back quickly.

“Yes. Quite finished.” Stowing the ointment in the medical kit gave Chloe an excuse to turn her back and conceal the redness of her cheeks. She stood and started for the bedroom.

“I trust that you'll stay here for the remainder of the night?”

“Of course. I'm fucking tired.”

“The shower is at your disposal and extra bandages are here.” Chloe indicated the pile of plasters on the kitchen table. “Feel free to knock if you need anything. Good night, Ms-Irene.” Irene shot her a dazzling smile, still gorgeous in spite of the angry red marks.

“Good night, Chloe.”

 

Chloe hurried off to her bedroom. She still hadn't changed since arriving back at the flat. Irene let herself watch the rip in the back of the pencil skirt flutter and reveal some very nice lace knickers indeed.

 

“Why did you let me sleep in?” Chloe asked. Mr. Holmes smiled.

“You'd had a long day, and a _very_ long night. I thought you deserved a little extra sleep.”

“I was perfectly fine. You didn't need to disable my alarm.”

“Are you really upset about this, my dear?”

“I...no. No, it's fine. I trust that Ir-Ms. Adler got to her flight safely?”

“Naturally. Indispensable as you are, the world can survive if you sleep an extra two hours. I am not sure how long it will survive if you don't get to work on Mr. Ajam, however.”

“Of course, sir.”

The knowing smirk that was just so _Holmes_ was not lost on Chloe.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Cynthia felt like she was suffocating. She was fine in dealing with Mr. Holmes' colleagues and clients a few at a time. She was fine in dealing with twenty problems at once through her Blackberry. But this? This was the worst part of her job. She had her suspicions that Mr. Holmes despised these functions as well, but he couldn't possibly understand her hatred of them until he'd spent an hour standing in heels and tiny dress while old politicians stared at his chest.

“Cynthia, have you met Mr. Musgrave?” She looked up from her Blackberry at the well dressed gentleman.

“I don't believe so. A pleasure.” She shook his hand and gave her best fake smile. Of course she had met him, just last week in fact, but that wasn't common knowledge to anyone at the gala, and it didn't need to be. She tuned out most of what he said, smiling and nodding when she knew it appropriate.

“Would you be so kind as to bring me a drink? I need a word with the Prime Minister.”

“Of course sir.” She whooped inwardly. Getting champagne required no formal introductions. She avoided eye contact on her way to retrieve the drink. As she turned to return to Mr. Holmes, however, she noticed someone eyeing her; a tall woman in an elegant deep blue dress. She offered a nod to acknowledge that she'd seen her looking, and hurried away. Mr. Holmes was just leaving the Prime Minister when she placed the glass of champagne in his hand.

“Thank you, Cynthia. I don't believe you're acquainted with Mr. Norton.”

“How do you do?” she asked, offering a hand to Godfrey Norton.

“Charmed.” He took her hand and bent to kiss it.

“Now now, dear,” crooned a voice behind Norton. The woman in the blue dress slid up next to him. “don't go stealing all the hearts while my back's turned. Mrs. Norton.” she provided Cynthia, extending a hand. She shook it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Norton.” Irene winked.

“And you. Cynthia, was it?” She nodded. Irene fell into conversation with Mr. Holmes and her fallacious husband. Cynthia tuned them out, but kept her eyes on Irene. The shimmery quality of her dress and the swing of her almost curly hair was quite mesmerising.

“Cynthia?”

“Oh! Sorry, I was miles away.” She shook her head as if to clear it, and sent Mr. Holmes a guilty smile. He looked vaguely concerned. Irene smiled. “Why don't you join me for some fresh air? It might help to clear that head of yours.” She sent a quick questioning look to Mr. Holmes. He nodded imperceptibly.

“Yes, all right.” Irene grinned and extended her arm. Cynthia looped her own through it and they turned to go. Irene leant in and whispered into her ear. “Did you miss me?”

 

Irene leant against the stone railing of the balcony and sighed as her shoulders stretched.

“You looked like you needed to get away from that crowd.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Cynthia rested her forearms on the rail and gazed over the darkened grounds. She no longer felt claustrophobic, but still found herself a bit short of breath. She blamed the tight-fitting dress. There was a companionable silence. A light breeze ruffled their hair. Cynthia smiled to herself; a real smile. This was pleasant. She looked back to find Irene watching her. Her face was unreadable.

“I didn't think you'd be returning so soon.” she said. Irene shrugged.

“Jersey's great, but I missed Europe. I'm in a show in Germany next.”

“Staying out of trouble?”

“Of course not. How's Big Brother treating you? Still glued to that Blackberry?”

“Same as ever.” Cynthia waved the mobile. “This is strangely peaceful.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maybe it's just because I'm so used to Mr. Holmes' brother, but when I saw you...I half-expected someone to get into a fight, or-” Irene giggled.

“I'm on my best behaviour tonight. Besides, we wouldn't want to mess up this dress, would we?”

“It is rather lovely.”

“And actually comfortable too, surprisingly. Feel this fabric!” Irene stepped closer. Cynthia hesitated.

“Come on, it won't bite.” She grabbed her wrist and drew it to her waist. The fabric was indeed smooth and astonishingly soft compared to how it looked. It was also very warm from Irene's body heat.

“A _herm_.” Cynthia jerked her hand back and spun around. Godfrey Norton stood in the doorway to the balcony.

“No need to panic, Cynthia. It's only me.” He smiled. “Dear, I need to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Holdhurst.”

“Of course, _sweetheart_. Lovely talking to you, Cynthia.” She moved from the rail and joined her husband, leaving Cynthia on the balcony. She turned and blew a kiss before disappearing inside.

Cynthia returned to Mr. Holmes' side a few minutes later. She didn't see Irene again for the rest of the evening, but she regarded the gala with a bit less disdain after their chat.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Busy, Iris?” Mr. Holmes asked, glancing down at her as he entered the office.

“Not at all, sir.” she replied and looked up from the Blackberry.

“Did you find the mobile number you were looking for?”

“Sir?”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled and sat down. “In any case, I need you to do something for me.” He opened a drawer and pulled a few files out.

“Take these to my agent. They're to go directly into her hands and no-one else's. The car will get you there, but you'll have to find her once you get to the building. She's undercover, but you should be able to recognise her. I believe you've met.”

Iris took the files and stood to leave.

“Oh, and Iris?”

“Yes sir?”

“Her mobile number is on the slip of paper at the top, should you need it.” It wasn't a normal gesture for Mycroft Holmes, but Iris had long given up the emotion of surprise. She left the office.

The car stopped a block away from the destination; a small independent newspaper company. She slipped inside without any trouble, but stared in horror at the number of people inside. Did such a tiny company really need this many employees?

She inched around a few cubicles, looking for a familiar face. She glanced down at the number atop the stack of papers. And American area code.

“Can I help you with those, Miss?” Iris spun to look at the intern who had tapped her on the shoulder.

“No, thank you. I have to find-”

The intern raised her eyebrows and looked at Iris above her thick, tacky glasses. Irene Adler was blonde today. She looked about five years younger than she actually was, in a sort of naïve, immature way.  
“Ms-”

“It's Helen McCormic.” Irene smirked and leaned in. “But didn't I tell you to call me by my first name...?”

“Iris.”

“You do like the flowery ones, don't you?”

“We have a system.”

“Is that so?” Irene snatched the files away with gaudy pink nails. She started to inspect them.

“I trust that everything is in order?”

“Looks to be.”

“Good day then, Ms. McCormic.” Iris turned to go.

“Now hang on!”

“Hm?”

“You forgot this.” Irene waved a slip of paper in front of Iris' face. “Here.” She reached forward and tucked it into the breast pocket of Iris' jacket.

“You might be needing that.” And Irene was gone, lost amoung the interns and journalists and editors. Once outside, Iris took the paper out of her pocket. She'd been searching for this number for the better part of a month.


	5. Chapter 5

_Off to G-_

Violet deleted the text.

 _I'd like to see y-_

Delete.

 _When can we-_

Delete delete.

 _Hey, what's u-_

Delete delete delete!

“Perhaps I can be of assistance?”  
Violet jumped. “Sir! I didn't realise-”

“You looked very concentrated on your task. However, our flight leaves soon and I'd like to be sure everything is in order.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry.”

The flight was excruciating. Mycroft found it novel to abide by airline conventions and forbade the use of mobile devices. She had a book to read, but Violet couldn't concentrate. She didn't know what to do with herself when she wasn't working. She fidgeted in her seat, her fingers twitching occasionally in the absence of her Blackberry.

“Why don't you sleep for a bit? We have our work cut out for us when we arrive, so you might as well rest.”

“I'll try sir.”

It was easier to fall asleep than she'd anticipated. _I should try this more often_ she thought before drifting off. She dreamed that she had finished composing that text and hit the 'send' button without fear. She was anxiously awaiting a reply when the _ding_ of the flight intercom woke her.

 

The workload in Athens was immense. So much so that Violet almost didn't get time to dwell on the mobile number that she had memorised, or the woman it belonged to. Almost, because small things constantly reminded her, to the point of paranoia:

“What are you looking at?”

“Sorry sir, I just thought I saw someone I know.”

“Do you know anyone in Greece?”  
“No, I just...just wanted to be sure.”

 

“Excuse me, I-oh.”

The woman asked “What?” in Greek. Violet replied in Greek.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Please excuse me.”

 

“Violet, I need you to run an errand.”

“Of course, sir.”

“One of my agents will be stationed in front of a relief at the Temple of Athena Nike. I need you to bring this,” Mr. Holmes handed her a briefcase. “to him. There's a photograph on your Blackberry that will help you identify him. I need you back by noon for the meeting with the ambassador.”

She nodded and hurried out to get a cab.

She had a fair bit of walking to do to get to the agent, so Violet stowed her Blackberry in order to navigate the stairs and columns of the Acropolis. In doing so, she actually noticed her surroundings. Violet was stunned, truly stunned, by the Acropolis. She'd never really paid any attention to architecture, but now that her eyes weren't glued to a mobile screen, she found it fascinating. She almost walked headfirst into the agent when she arrived at the temple. He took the briefcase without a word, leaving her to marvel at the relief sculpture on a parapet. She knew little about Greek mythology, but she was familiar enough with it to admire the goddess of the city. That intelligence and beauty. She could remember having a bit of a crush on a sculpture she'd seen in school (though she would never admit it). She gazed at the sculpture. The detail of the fabric draping over her breasts and limbs. The grace of her almost movement as she leaned to adjust her sandal. Violet's imagination tried to fill in where her face was missing. The image her brain provided was a familiar one, despite being carved in stone.

“Lovely, isn't she?” A voice behind her spoke in Greek.

“Incredible.” she replied.

“Have you been in Athens long? That's not a native accent.” It took Violet a moment to realise that the woman had spoken in English. Perfect, American East-Coast English. When she saw her face, she nearly fell over.

“Y-you! What are you doing here?”

“Having some fun. Big Brother give you the day off?”

“Er, no. I'm on my way back. Had to deliver something.”  
“Pity. Nice choice of locations, though. Athena is a premium grade badass.” Violet chuckled at the phrasing.

“You know, you could just give him the slip. I could use a bit of help.”  
“Doing what?”

“Breaking up an international smuggling ring.”

“That sounds like something Sherlock would do.”

“It's a job he turned down. Not sure why.”

“I believe it's Dr. Watson's birthday.”

“Oh. _Oh._ So they're, uh...”

“I wouldn't presume to know.”

“So you're sure you couldn't come along? I promise it'll be a riot.”

“No, I'm sorry. I just...I couldn't.” Irene shot her a mischievous look.

“I gave you my number. I thought you might text.” Violet coloured.

“I...I meant to...I”

“It's fine. But give me yours. I'll update you on the action so that Big Brother doesn't bore you too much.” Before Violet could protest, Irene had grabbed her purse and dug out her Blackberry. After a moment of key-punching, she handed it back.

“You'll hear from me soon. I've programmed my number in there as well. I'm wounded that you didn't do it already.”  
“Er, I'd memorised it.”

Irene licked her bottom lip. “Well then. I'll see you later.”

 

Thoughts of Irene tormented Violet when she returned to Mr. Holmes' side. She kept her cool and aloof demeanor, but something deep in her stomach seemed to burn with a desire to throw down her mobile and run across the city to find Adler, political situation be damned. It didn't help that Irene texted her about every ten minutes. She had programmed herself into Violet's phone as “You know you want me”.

 _From: Youknowyouwantme_

 _Hey sexy. Could use your help. He's getting away!_

 

 _From:Youknowyouwantme_

 _What's Greek for “put that down, you crazy motherfucker”?_

 

 _From:Youknowyouwantme_

 _I bet you'd know how to take care of this guy. I just can't get the information I need_

 

 _From: Youknowyouwantme_

 _I miss you, sweetie. You should be here, having an adventure with me_

 

 _From: Youknowyouwantme_

 _Where's your high heel kung fu when I need it?_

 

 _From: Youknowyouwantme_

 _Please ditch the dodo. It's getting boring_

 

Violet couldn't hold in her giggle at the latest text. She had half a mind to comply to Irene's childish nags. It wasn't as if she was doing anything important now. She was only placating an angry politician who had access to the military. Nothing important at all. She squirmed in her seat.

“Sir, may I use the toilet?”

“Certainly, Violet.” She stood and made to go to the loo.

“Ah, before you go!” Mr. Holmes stood. She froze.

“Sir?”

“I expect not to see you until eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”  
“S-sir?”

“Really, we are in a beautiful city with _wonderful people_ , it's only fair that I give you at least the evening off. You're clearly anxious and exhausted.”  
“I-I couldn't possibly-”

“Not another word, Violet. Go and have some fun. I hope not to see you until tomorrow.” She started at him for a moment. He smiled back, tranquil as a Buddha.

“Th-thank you, sir.” He waved her gratitude away and turned back to his work.

She didn't need any more than that. Her stride broke into a run as she made for the hotel's exit, texting as she went.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down. Speaking of going down, the ladies go down on one another

Violet followed Irene to a dingy street in the inner city. A stray dog watched them out of one bleary eye.

“I have a friend who can give us some information.” she explained before knocking on a door. A middle-aged man with tired eyes answered the door. He brightened at the sight of the two women.

“Irene! How I've missed you! Come in, my dear.” He spoke in English with a heavy accent. They stepped in after him.

“Violet, this is Elias. I helped him out in a scrape a few years ago, and we've kept in touch.” Elias clapped Irene on the shoulder.

“This woman saved me from-” He mimed a knife being drawn across his throat. Irene clarified.

“He got into some trouble with a local gang. I managed to make Mr. Katsaros see sense.”

“Sit down, ladies. I will bring coffee.”

“I'm afraid we don't have time, Elias.”

“Ah, I see. A romantic night in Athens, is it? We'll make this quick then.” He winked at Irene. Violet reddened.

“It's not...” She didn't get to finish the argument. Irene was already spewing names and locations to Elias. He nodded along, sometimes adding a question. It was, to overuse the phrase, all Greek to Violet.

“Come along, Violet. We have to hurry if we want to catch him.”

“Catch who?” she asked halfway out the door. Elias called a farewell behind them.

“Mr. Marinos. He's the center of all this.”

“Marinos...”

“Iakobos Marinos. Had a run-in with him once before. This is going to be fun.”

“So, where are we going to find him?”

“Oh, he'll be impossible to find without an insider. We've gotta send him a message. Yeah, I'll have a kabob, please.” Irene switched to Greek to order the food from the vendor. “Do you want anything?” she asked Violet, who had just realised how hungry she was.

“I'll have one as well.” She started to pull her wallet out.

“Oh come on, I'm buying.” Irene waved for her to put the money back. “Least I can do.”

“I daresay you're doing a lot for me, letting me come along with you.”

“It's all my pleasure. But you know, I _do_ like making sure that the pleasure is mutual.” Irene cocked up an eyebrow and smirked, making Violet blush quite unforgivably. The vendor coughed. Irene laughed and took the food from him. They walked on, eating their kabobs as they went.

They stopped at a stand in a street market. An old woman bustled about, keeping flies and light-fingered children away from her bread. Her face twisted into a grimace when she saw Irene.

“This can't be anything good, Cassandra.” Irene shrugged.

“It isn't anything very bad, granny.” The woman scowled and swatted at a fly with more force than was necessary.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to leave a message for Ani. You see, the sea navigator is in town.” The woman blanched.

“Of course. What shall I tell him?”

“Just tell him that Cassandra wants a meeting with the sea navigator.” She nodded.

“Thank you.” Irene said. She slipped a small loaf of bread under her jacket as the two women left the stand. She started ripping off pieces and eating as soon as they were out of the old woman's view.

“Did you really need to steal that?”

“Hey, I'm hungry. Want a piece?”

“No, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. It's really good.”

“I'm sure it is.”

“Here, I'll feed it to you.”

“What? No, I-ack!” Violet was caught somewhere between a choke and a giggle. Irene had an arm around her neck and had tried to shove a piece of bread into her mouth.

“Stop it!”

“What's in it for me?”

“Let me go and you'll find out.”

“Ohoho!” Irene stepped back and crossed her arms expectantly. “So where's my reward?”

“Oh, I'll give it to you later.”

“That's not fair! I want it now!” Violet grinned.

“You really are a child, aren't you?”

“With _these_ tits? I don't think so.” Irene grabbed at her own chest to prove the point. Violet could barely stand for laughing. When she got a hold of herself, she saw that Irene was staring at her, a curious expression on her face.

“What?”

“It's just...I don't think I've ever seen you laugh before. Really laugh.”

“Oh. Er, well...I don't suppose...I don't laugh at work.” Violet hadn't really noticed before, but she actually couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed this hard. The smile faded from her lips. Somewhere in the exchange Irene had taken a step closer, bringing them within a few inches of each other. Since Violet wasn't wearing heels, she stood a few inches shorter than Irene. She tilted her head further back to find that Irene was slowly leaning down. She felt her heart would beat right out of her chest.

“Cassandra.” Violet gasped and jumped back. Irene simply smiled blandly at the short man that had approached them.

“ Fotios. You spoke to Aniketos, then?”

“I did. I'm to go back with your answer.” He held out a piece of paper. Irene unfolded it and read. She passed it to Violet.

 _It's been too long, my dear. Time and place? - M_

 

Violet ignored the pain in her side. It would only be a bruise anyway. She concentrated on the grip she had on the man's head. She spoke to him in Greek.

“Do you know who you've been fucking with?” He sputtered, blood dripping from his swollen lips.

“Sorry, didn't catch that.” He groaned something that may have been Irene's name.

“That's it. Miss Irene Fucking Adler to you, maggot. Not the right person to fuck with.” The man coughed, spilling blood onto her shoes. He started to laugh.

“What is so damned funny?”

“M-missed one.” He choked out. She turned and saw the other man just in time to dodge his strike. She lost her hold on the captive, but he was mostly out of action anyway.  
“Fuck!” She stumbled backwards over the remains of a few old columns. Whose idea was it to pick a fight in the dark in the Parthenon? Oh right, Violet. _You just had to gush about the architecture, didn't you?_

The man loomed over her. She kicked out, but the strike on his legs wasn't strong enough; she didn't have enough grounding.

“A little heeeeeelp!” He came forward. It took Violet a few seconds to realise that he hadn't done so of his own accord. A carved hand stuck in his hair, sticky with blood. Violet looked up to see Irene, the now handless statue still clutched in her hands. She dropped it.

“You okay?” Violet couldn't answer; she was laughing too hard. Irene chuckled too and crouched next to her, pushing the probably dead man away.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I've just done something incredibly stupid.”

“That you did, love. That you did. And how does it feel?”

“Makes me want to do more stupid things.” Violet couldn't ever remember smiling the way she was doing now; a sort of idiotic grin that made her face feel as if it was glowing. Although it was a very good feeling to smile like that, she didn't mind at all when Irene leaned in and kissed it off.

“How was that for a stupid thing?” Irene said breathlessly when they parted.

“Like I said, makes me want to do more stupid things. But preferably at the hotel. It's not very comfortable here on bits of column.”

 

“I can walk, Irene.” she said as they got out of the cab.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure.” Irene eyed Violet sceptically. True, she was still trembling, but that was more to do with the remnants of her adrenalin rush than any sort of pain.

They ignored the curious looks once inside the hotel and made their way straight to Violet's room. She leant against the wall of the lift and looked up at the ceiling.

“What time is it?” she asked. Irene glanced at her phone. “12:31.” she replied. After a moment, she asked, “What's your name, then?”

“Haidee.”

“Nice to meet you, Haidee.”

“Do you like it?”

“Very much. A Greek princess. But you'd better not call me Edmond.”

Haidee chuckled. “Wouldn't dream of it, _Count_.” Irene made a sort of growl and crowded her into the corner.

“You still owe me from before.”

“Yes, I believe I do. I'm prepared to make good on that now.”

Irene leant in and pressed her lips to Haidee's. They broke apart at the _ding_ of the lift reaching their floor. Haidee led the way to her room in silence. She pulled out her Blackberry and fired off a text while sliding the key card through with the other hand. Irene brushed past her the moment the door opened. Haidee followed and went to hang her jacket up and kick her shoes off.

She found Irene perched at the edge of the bed, her blouse halfway unbuttoned. She lifted a leg to pull her remaining shoe off. Haidee stared.

“What?” Irene asked, raising an eyebrow. Haidee smiled.

“Do you have any idea how much you look like that carving at the Nike temple?”

“Ha! I suppose I am posed like her.” She exaggerated her pose and giggled. “Lucky for you I'm not Athena.”

“Why's that?”

“She was a virgin goddess sworn to chastity.”

“Oh,” said Haidee. “That simply will not do.” She pounced, pushing Irene back onto the mattress. Irene's tongue pushed into Haidee's mouth. She let her in, and soon their lips were swollen and on the way to being sore.

The buzzing of Haidee's mobile startled her into biting Irene's bottom lip. Irene didn't mind that in the slightest. What she did seem to mind was that Haidee was reaching back to check the phone.

“Don't you dare...” It was hard to sound menacing when you were moaning into another woman's mouth, but Irene sort of pulled it off. Haidee didn't listen. She opened her eyes and looked down at the small screen in her hand. Her lips stayed inches from Irene's, and she kept her other hand moving, working its way into Irene's trousers.

“It's my contact.” she whispered. “He can sort out the bodies. Just have to send this text...” Haidee interrupted herself by kissing Irene. Her thumb clicked over the Blackberry keys. The free hand had found the waistband of Irene's underwear, the button and zip of her trousers already taken care of.

“That's amazing!” Irene grinned up at Haidee. “You have very agile fingers.” Haidee dropped the mobile and wiggled her fingers in front of the other woman's face. “And that's not all they can do.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

Haidee let herself be flipped onto her back. She gasped a little at the pressure on her bruises.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Don't you dare stop.” Irene grinned and nipped at her earlobe. She gasped again, for an entirely different reason. Her fingers were still looped in Irene's waistband. She tugged downwards, and then moved to pushed the blouse off her shoulders. Irene started working the buttons on Haidee's shirt, her mouth pressed firmly to her throat.

“Can I leave marks?” she murmered against Haidee's skin. Haidee thought for a moment – it was difficult to concentrate on coherent thought – and then nodded.

“He'll turn a blind eye.” she said. Not a moment after the words had left her mouth, Irene bit down at the spot where neck met shoulder. Haidee threw her head back and let her toes curl. She pulled desperately at Irene's shirt, still hanging from her elbows. They broke apart just enough to remove their remaining outerwear. Irene slid away to pull off her trousers. Haidee wriggled out of her own.

“That's some lovely lingerie.” Irene smirked at Haidee's purple lace. “Put it on just for me?”

“You wish.” Haidee said. “I'm getting a little sick of it, though. What do you think?”

“I see what you mean. Let's see if it matches the carpeting.” Haidee let out a little squeal as Irene's hands tore her bra and knickers away – she was just a teensy bit ticklish.

“Oh,” breathed Irene once the offending undergarments were thrown across the room. “you are gorgeous.” She straddled Haidee's hips and ran her fingers up her waist. When they reached her ribs, Haidee twitched violently.

“Sorry.” they said in unison. “I didn't realise you were ticklish.” Irene said.

“I was hoping you wouldn't, but I suppose it was inevitable.”

“True. I'll try to be careful.” Irene dipped her head down to kiss her gently. Haidee moaned around her slowly prodding tongue when those wandering fingers found her breasts. She wrapped her own hands into Irene's hair, and then trailed one through it to pick at her bra clasp. It popped open and Irene shrugged it off.

“Fuck.” Haidee gasped.

“Filthy mouths need cleaning.” Irene bit into Haidee's lower lip and ran her tongue over the swollen spot. Haidee arched her back, bringing their bellies together. The contact made Irene gasp.

“More.” she said, nudging a knee between Haidee's thighs in an effort to bring their bodies closer.

“Let's get rid of these.” Haidee snapped at the elastic of Irene's knickers. “I as good as promised my fingers, didn't I?” She received a groan in answer, and the silky pants disappeared. Haidee reached up between Irene's legs and gently pressed a finger into the soft flesh. Irene rocked her hips to increase the pressure. She bit her lip. The finger moved to tease at her vulva and another brushed her clitoris. Irene made an impatient noise.

“Lie down.” They rolled and softly shoved until Haidee was back on top. She pushed until two fingers were pushed into Irene. She rubbed her thumb against the clitoris, setting a rhythm. She laid an open-mouthed kiss on Irene's breast, began to suck and swirl her tongue around the nipple. Irene hissed and clutched Haidee's back. Her hips shifted and rocked, keeping paced with the hand moving inside her.

“Oh... _oh fff_...I'm-”

“Shhh, go ahead, love.” Haidee kissed her as her body tensed and trembled with orgasm.

Irene sighed and sank back into the mattress. She unclenched a hand from the sheets and circled Haidee's wrist. She drew the hand from between her legs, pulled it up to her lips, sucked her own fluid from the fingers.

“Jesus.” Haidee gasped.

“You sure you want him to know about this sodomy?”

“I don't care who knows, so long as we keep doing it.” Irene licked her lips.

“My turn. Gods, I bet you taste wonderful.”

Haidee collapsed next to her, breathing heavily.

“It won't take long.”

Irene sat up and pushed herself over her lover. She slid down Haidee's body, kissing wetly and trailing her tongue as she went. She licked into Haidee's belly button, making her squirm. She chuckled, a puff of hot breath against Haidee's hip. She continued downwards, her hands kneading the thighs spread before her.

“Ah-Irene!” Haidee all but shouted when the woman's tongue pushed past her labia and licked a wet trail along her entrance. From there, it became a blur of heat and sensation as Irene steadily took her apart with mouth and tongue and fingers. Haidee was hardly aware of the sounds she was making, no doubt embarrassing.

“Ohfuckohgoddammit _Irene_!” She tried to pull herself together and failed completely. She came hard, waves of pleasure pulsing through her body. She was dimly aware of Irene moving to lie next to her as she gasped up at the ceiling. Christ, it had been _so long._

“I take it it wasn't bad?”

“Huhhaaaaaah, no. Bad isn't the word I would use.” Irene kissed her jaw.

“Well, in assessing your character, I have found you to be strong, capable, and exceptionally skilled.” On the word 'skilled', Irene wound her fingers between Haidee's. “Shall we see how you do in tests of endurance?”

“I think you'll find me with an abundance of it.”

 

Haidee jolted awake at the sound of her alarm. She groaned and felt around for the mobile. She didn't find it, and one arm was pinned to her side. She turned her head to see Irene, one arm bent under her pillow, the other wrapped across Haidee's waist. Her body was pressed fully along her side. Her breath was warm against Haidee's collarbone. She inhaled deeply in waking.

“Mmmmmornin'.” she said. “That alarm's 'nnoying.”

Haidee gently pulled herself from the woman's grip and found the Blackberry on the floor. She stopped the alarm and checked the time. She groaned.

“I have to get ready to go. Our flight leaves in three hours, and there's still work to be done.”

“Shame. I was rather enjoying you being naked.” Haidee laughed quietly and slid out of bed. Irene scowled after her. “It's cold here without you.”

Haidee shrugged on the way to the toilet. “Get up, then.”

Irene groaned and rolled over loudly. Haidee brushed her teeth and stepped into the shower, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Irene took the hint a few minutes later, sliding under the water behind her new lover. She wrapped her arms around Haidee, rubbing her palms into the soapy lather worked up on her belly. They spent a good ten minutes nuzzling and caressing under the hot water. They even managed to get clean. They dried each other off, giggling all the way through. Haidee pulled her hair into a bun; she wouldn't have time to dry and style it into her usual luxurious waves. She packed her single suitcase with startling efficiency. Irene watched from the bed, her bathrobe hanging open. Haidee didn't give her the satisfaction of being distracted.

“What time is it?” she asked while pulling on a shoe. Irene grabbed the Blackberry from the bedside table and told her.

“Shit!” Haidee lunged for the mobile and immediately started to text. “I'm late I'm late I'm late I'm _never_ late!”

Irene sprang from the bed and grabbed Haidee's shoulders. She leant in and kissed her gently on the mouth, then nose, then forehead.

“Relax.” she breathed. “It'll be fine. Just take a deep breath.” Haidee inhaled and closed her eyes. “Okay. I'm okay. But I do need to get going.” Irene nodded and kissed her forehead again. They went to the door, Haidee's bag in hand. Se passed the key card to Irene.

“Take advantage of the room. Check-out's at eleven.” Irene nodded.

“Have a good flight, dear.”

“No promises.” Haidee thought of the grueling flight ahead of her.

“None at all?”

“Well,” Haidee blushed a little. “I think we could squeeze a few in there.” Irene kissed her again, deeply enough that Haidee worried that she might not make it down in time for the flight. She wasn't sure what to say when they broke apart. She opened her mouth. Irene placed a finger over her lips.

“Go. I'll text you.” She nodded and turned to go.

 

Mr. Holmes said nothing of her lateness when she greeted him in the hotel's conference room.

“I trust you had a pleasant evening?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He pulled something out of his pocket.

“It's getting rather cold around here, you may want to cover up.” He handed her a recently purchased scarf. It matched her clothes perfectly. She turned bright red and took it from him, knotting it to cover the purplish marks on her neck.

 

The text came just before the announcement to turn off all mobile devices.

 _From: youknowyouwantme_

 _Safe journey. You left your panties, so I'm keeping them as a souvenir._

She deleted it as soon as she could, just in case Mr. Holmes asked why she was blushing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a bit of a bump in the road

She was not pining. No way. She did _not_ suffer any sort of separation anxiety. Especially not because of a woman she'd only met on what? Three occasions? Jasmine was not buying it. There was definitely no flip in her stomach when a new text came in. She read it, expecting the usual flirtatious, suggestive banter they'd indulged in for the past few weeks.

 _From: youknowyouwantme_

 _I miss you – IA_

Okay. Okay, maybe she could admit it. Maybe Jasmine was a little bit head-over-heels for Irene Adler. Well who could blame her? Have you _seen_ Irene Adler? She shook her head and tried to concentrate on her work. Mr. Holmes called.

“How's the progress with Mr. Openshaw?”

“He's agreed to meet with Mrs. Roylot to discuss terms. I've already programmed the date and time into your system.”

“Good. I'll be back at the office in about an hour, possibly more.”

“I know, I just spoke with your driver.”

“Of course. Any word from Mr. Harkness?”

“Not yet, sir. It's been a quiet morning.”

“Ah, good and bad news. You should text her back, by the way.”

“Who, sir?” she asked, although she had a good idea who he was talking about. He sighed.

“You still won't admit it, then?”

“Sir?”

“Jasmine. I prefer to leave you be in personal affairs, but this is getting ridiculous. Tell Irene Adler that you miss her. I will see you in an hour.” He hung up, leaving Jasmine frozen and bright red. She slowly lowered the Blackberry and opened a new text. She had never typed so slowly.

 _I miss you._

She took a deep breath before hitting 'send'. And now the nervous waiting began. A painful seven minutes and thirty six seconds passed. The Blackberry buzzed.

 _Really? What's your name today?_

 _Jasmine_

 _Pretty but not your best. Big Brother around?_

 _An hour until I have company._

 _Long enough. Call me._

Jasmine dialled quickly, but hesitated before hitting the 'call' button. Of course she _wanted_ to talk to her, she just...wasn't sure. Did Irene want to actually talk? To hear her voice? Phone-sex? Jasmine definitely didn't want that just now. She was working, after all. She took a deep breath before calling.

“Hello sweetie.” Irene answered on the second ring.

“Irene.” Jasmine said carefully.

“What, is this a business call?”

“Of course not.”

“Why so formal?”

“I...this is just...I didn't know what _else_ to say.”

“How about a 'hey sexy', at least?”

“I can't do that! That's not me.”

“Well, if this is gonna be a business call, why don't we get down to business?” No-one could have missed the suggestive tone in her voice.

“Irene...”

“What are you wearing?”

“Nothing special. Work clothes. Irene-”

“God, I can just picture you there in that office. I'd push you over his desk, take you right on his papers.”

“Irene, please.”

“Wouldn't you like that? Tell me what you'd do.”

“Irene, I'm at work. I can't do this right now.”

“Oh come on! He's not around for a while, you might as well have some fun.” Jasmine bit her lip. She was truly uncomfortable now, and when she was uncomfortable she resorted to her strictly professional state. It was like a conversational reflex.

“Irene, I understand your desire to continue, but I am working at the moment. Our apologies.”

“ _Our_ apologies?”

“My...my apologies.”

“Christ, you're a secretarial robot!”

“I...sorry. I just feel...”

“You know what? Forget it. Jesus what a buzz-kill.” Jasmine didn't know what to say. She felt like apologising, but didn't know what to apologise for. Had she really offended Irene that much? In a moment of what was either guts or weakness, she drew the Blackberry from her ear and hit the 'end' button. How was it that she could deal with men shouting at her in Farsi without batting an eyelash, but the thought of Irene's anger made her want to curl into a ball and hide?

The mobile rang. She ignored the call and blocked Irene's number. For now. Her chest hurt.

Mr. Holmes didn't comment on her cold demeanor when he returned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a reunion and a desk

“Have a team sent to Cardiff for cleanup, let Mr. Scott know that I accept his offer, have a car sent to pick up Dr. Watson at the Yard, organise a lunch with the Detective Inspector on Sherlock's newest case, and prepare a file for a new London operative.”

Fern's thumbs were nearly invisible on the Blackberry keypad.

“The operative will be here in about twenty minutes. Give them this,” he tapped an envelope on the desk. “and the file once it's compiled. I have to go to that meeting. It will likely take all afternoon. Take the rest of the evening off, but stay on call.”

“Yes, sir.” He swept out of the office, leaving Fern to type madly in order to be ready for the operative's visit.

Fifteen minutes later she had only just finished when there was a knock on the office door.

“Come in.” She said, picking up the envelopes. The first thing she saw when the door opened was a fedora, followed by a pinstriped suit. It reminded her distinctly of an American gangster film.

“So what's your name today?” Irene asked as she strode into the room. She had a haughty air to her countenance.  
“Fern. I take it you're the new London operative?”

“Disappointed?”

“I trust Mr. Holmes' judgement.” She walked briskly to Irene and presented the documents.

“Your file and some information on your duties. I'd be happy to help with anything you find confusing.”

“Really? Happy?” Fern gave her professional smile, a little dampened by the angry roiling of her insides.

“Of course, Ms. Adler. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yeah. Yeah there is.” Irene took a predatory step forward. “I think you can help me set this straight.”

“Set what straight?” Despite having learnt to lie from Mycroft Holmes, this was a particularly feeble one.

“Oh bullshit! You know what I'm talking about. Don't mess around, Fern.”

“What is there to set straight?” Fern's anger rose suddenly, and for once she let it out. She felt her face redden. “I think we're both pretty clear about what happened.”

“See, I don't think we are.” Irene said, frowning. “You hung up on me.” Fern drew herself up to her full height – admittedly rather short next to Irene.

“Oh, and that's the worst insult you've ever had, is it?”

“No, but-”

“Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hung up because I didn't know what to say to you because I was incredibly uncomfortable. I was partly in the wrong, but so were you.”

“I...you...” For once, Irene Adler was lost for words. Fern composed herself, willing the blush away.

“I apologise. Officially.” She crossed her arms, clearly waiting. Irene turned very red.

“Good. I accept. You're forgiven.” she said, almost in a stutter. Fern raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I was not the only one at fault.” Irene sputtered again.

“I...but I...” Fern stood her ground. She held herself back from tapping her foot impatiently. It wouldn't help matters at all.

“I...I'm sorry? I'm sorry.” It seemed to have taken a gargantuan effort to say those words. A smile crossed Fern's lips; a real one.

“Apology accepted.” Irene relaxed visibly.

“So...where does that leave us?”

“Where do you want it to leave us?” Irene grinned wickedly.

“I want it to leave us debauched and panting over Mycroft's desk.” Fern snapped her hands to her mouth, as if to catch the girlish giggle that had escaped it. She blushed furiously. Irene must have mistaken the move as one of scandal, and lowered her gaze.

“I mean...I know you don't...won't...sorry. You're at work.” Fern took a step forward, bringing herself withing touching distance of Irene. She smiled up at her.

“Actually, I'm not working right now. Mr. Holmes gave me the rest of the afternoon off, once I'd given you those.” She nodded at the envelopes in Irene's hand. “I'm still on call if he needs me, but...” The two women's eyes met, scrutinising.

“Are you saying that my suggestion-”

“Seems like a damn good one, actually.” Fern said before catching Irene's head in her hands to pull it downwards.

“Welcome back.” she whispered, just before their lips met. The kiss started out as a chaste pressure, but Irene would not stand for that. She thrust her tongue into Fern's mouth, hungry for more. Fern would have laughed at her eagerness, had she not been rather occupied with kissing Irene Adler. She twisted the dark curls around her fingers and leant her body in, flush against Irene's. It had been months since Athens, months of frustration and daydreaming and yes, anger, but also longing. Fern was self-aware enough to know that what she felt for Irene was more than friendship, deeper than casual sex. She wouldn't admit it out loud, not until Irene brought it up first, but it was true all the same. She was quite probably in love.

The fedora fell to the floor, forgotten. Fern heard the documents join it, but it was a distant sound. Irene untucked her blouse from the pencil skirt and slipped her hands underneath. Fern gasped at the touch. She could feel Irene grin into the kiss. She nipped at her bottom lip in retaliation. The aggressive gesture must have sparked something in Irene; something dominant. Fern found herself pushed backwards until the edge of Mr. Holmes' desk dug into her thighs. She had to arch her spine and lean backwards to avoid injury. She yelped when Irene dropped suddenly, wrapped her arms around her thighs, and lifted, placing her quickly but firmly onto the desk. She wrapped her arms tighter around Irene's neck to bring her in for another kiss, rougher this time.

Irene pushed her knee in between Fern's legs, but the tight skirt was very restricting. Fern drew her hands down to hitch it up around her hips while Irene finished unbuttoning her blouse. Irene leant back, a self-satisfied smirk on her face that told Fern that she looked as ravished as she felt. It occurred to her that the other woman was still completely clothed and dapper (minus the hat, of course).

“I quite agree.” Irene whispered as though she had read Fern's thoughts. She let the pinstriped jacket fall from her shoulders. Fern made a grab for the shirt, trying her hardest to tear it from her body. She ended up clutching the tie, accidentally jerking Irene forwards by the neck. Started by the sudden jolt, she lost balance and half-fell on top of Fern. A stack of papers toppled over and fluttered off the desk. There was a pen digging into Fern's back. They laughed breathlessly. Irene loomed over Fern, her hands flat on the desk below. Fern pulled her legs up and wrapped them around her lover's waist.

“Irene...” Irene moved a hand to Fern's breast, massaging gently. She bent down to bite at her neck, earning a groan.

“What do you want?” she murmured into her shoulder.

“I want you to get rid of that shirt.” Fern replied, bucking her hips up to create a lovely friction against Irene's belly. She trailed her fingers up her arms, along her collarbone, and down to the opening of the shirt. Her fingers made quick work of the buttons.

“Can't...wait.” Irene groaned, leaning down to kiss Fern. “Fuck the clothes, I want you _now_.”

“Okay.” Fern whispered. Irene thrust her hands under the skirt and pulled Fern's knickers halfway down her knees. She pressed her fingers up between Fern's legs, earning a moan.

“But...what about-”

“Let this be my proper apology.” Irene said, kissing her. “We'll have plenty of time for reciprocation.” She punctuated the words with a press upwards into Fern.

Fern arched into her lover with a gasp.

“Oh god. Irene...”

“Shhhhh, what if some old politician hears you?”

“Uuuuoo-” Fern bit her fist to keep from making too much noise.

“A screamer, eh?”

“Sh-shut up.” Fern said, even more of a blush rising to her cheeks. Irene took her fist away from her mouth and replaced it with her own lips. She worked her fingers further into her and rubbed at her clitoris. She continued the motion until the other woman was shaking beneath her. She kissed Fern through her orgasm.

Fern panted, her legs trembling around Irene's waist. Her mind was incredibly relaxed, a pleasant change from the light-speed she normally had to maintain for her job.

“Irene...god...I love you...” She stiffened when she realised what she had said. Was that okay? “I-I mean-”

Irene kissed her again, closed-mouthed and chaste.

“I love you, too.” She smiled, and then looked a very debauched Fern over. “I think we ought to clean you up a bit, though.” Fern glanced down.

“...Right.”

 

Clothing put in its proper place and Mr. Holmes' desk returned to it's crisp and organised state, Irene wrapped her arm around Fern's waist.

“Where to, gorgeous? Hungry?”

“Starving. I know a good place a quick walk from here. Indian all right?”

“Sounds lovely. You're going to have to introduce me to all the good restaurants here.”

“Oh, I rarely eat at restaurants outside of work. Mostly it's wherever Mr. Holmes is having his meetings.”

Irene laughed. “We're going to have to do something about that.” Fern gave her a questioning look.

“Something you should know about me is that I like showing off.”

“So, a lot of dates, then?”

“If you're up for them.”

Fern turned her head to kiss Irene's shoulder.

“I think I'll be able to live with it. Of course, you understand about my work...”

Irene sighed heavily.

“Yes, of course. Bloody Mycroft.” They laughed. It was nice to be able to laugh with someone. Fern hadn't had much of a chance to do that since starting work for Mycroft Holmes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone is flat-hunting and the story concludes

“While you're picking up the Detective Inspector, would you give our favourite operative a call?”

“Sir, do you mean _my_ favourite, or _your_ favourite?”

“Yours. It seems she's having difficulty in finding a flat, and she can't live in that hotel room forever. Give her a hand, won't you?”

“Of course, sir.” Anthea slipped into the black car and nodded to her boss. It pulled away in the direction of the crime scene. She dialled.

“Hello, sexy.” Irene answered.

“Mr. Holmes has informed me that you are flat hunting.”

“For once his information is correct.”

“Why didn't I know about this?”  
“Well, we've been a bit too busy shagging to talk about such trivial things, haven't we?” Anthea turned bright red.

“ _Anyway_ , what sort of place are you looking for?”

“Somewhere quiet and fairly close to the office. I think I'd like a flat-share.”

“A flat-share? But surely you can afford-”

“It's not about the money, it's about the companionship.” Something had changed in Irene's voice. It was a change that Anthea had gotten used to in the past couple of weeks. The sort of tone that came with a nudge and a wink.

“Oh, I think I know a pretty good place, then.” she said.

“Really? What's the flat-mate like?”

“Oh, she's pretty easy-going. Has a strenuous job, but she is a rather good cook.”

“That sounds perfect. When can I check the place out?”

“She gets off work at five tonight, since her boss has a private meeting. Perhaps you could meet her there at five thirty and she'll make you dinner?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I'll text you the address.”

They hung up, Anthea with a flutter in her heart.

 

The doorbell rang precisely at five thirty. Anthea was glad she had arrived home earlier than expected and had a head start on the tortellini dish she was making. She'd also had time to change out of her work clothes. She wore a black dress that did wonders for her bust-line. It was a bit shorter than she usually preferred her skirts. She tried to keep the grin off her face as she answered the door.

“Irene, was it? Come in, come in.” Irene stepped inside and made a show of looking around.

“Oh this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.”

“Glad you think so. The tortellini will be done in just a few minutes. Would you care for some wine?”

“Love some.”

Anthea poured the wine and made a show of swaying her hips as she handed the glass to Irene.

“So,” Irene said. “you haven't told me your name.”

“Anthea.”

“Beautiful. It suits you.”

“Thank you. I chose it myself. Perhaps you'd like to see some of the flat while dinner is cooking?”

“Of course. Give me the grand tour.”

Anthea lead her around the flat, pointing out this or that, but mostly paying attention to the way Irene's eyes were wandering over her. She didn't regret her dress choice in the least.

“Ah, perhaps I should show you the bedroom after dinner?”

“That may be best. I want enough time to make sure that it's...sufficient.”

They returned to the kitchen to eat. Irene made a show of licking up all of the sauce left by the tortellini. Anthea failed spectacularly in keeping her blush at bay.

“That was delicious.”

“You're quite the flatterer.”  
“Will it work?”

Anthea turned from the sink after placing their dishes there.

“Why don't we finish that tour?”

Irene followed her down the hall.

“The toilet is here,” she pointed. “and the guest bedroom is next door.”

“And where will I be sleeping?”

“Well, we may have a little bit of a problem with that. You see, I need a guest bedroom.” Anthea put a finger to her lips innocently. “But there's only one other bedroom. Mine.” She pushed the door to her bedroom open. “You wouldn't mind...sharing...would you?”

Anything else she may have said was lost as Irene tackled her through the door.


End file.
